Devon Hartford - Painless

“Russell Merriweather, on behalf of Mr. Manos.”

The judge shuffled papers and files on the desk in front of her, setting everything in order. When she was finished, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her. “Thank you, counselors. We have a number of motions to work through. I suggest we begin with the State. Mr. Schlosser?”

George Schlosser stepped up to the podium between the prosecution table and the defense table and said, “Mr. Manos is identified through witness statements and descriptions as the perpetrator in the assault and battery in question.”

 Schlosser then proceeded to dive into a litany of evidentiary motions. In other words, Schlosser told the judge all the things he was going to do at my trial to prove I was the bad guy, that I had swung first at poor old Horst Grossman for no good reason.

It was all uncomfortably familiar.

How many times had I sat behind the defense table for similar reasons? I’d lost count. In the past, I’d never cared. But I hadn’t had much to care about. Now things were different.

Now I had Samantha to worry about. Seeing her flourish and find success in life was my number one priority.

I grit my teeth. I couldn’t wait for this shit to be over.

When Schlosser finished sketching out what the State would argue on Friday at my trial, he returned to his seat and Russell took over the podium.

The entire time Russell spoke, Schlosser watched him closely, taking notes and periodically whispering to his assistants. I knew Schlosser was strategizing, looking for any weakness in Russell’s case that he could exploit during my trial. For the most part, nothing was whetting Schlosser’s carnivorous appetite. He almost looked bored. Russell Merriweather ran a tight ship, and I knew he’d worked up a solid case for my claim of self defense. The real action wouldn’t really start until Friday.

“Will you be calling any other witnesses at trial, Mr. Merriweather?” Judge Moody asked, her eyes on her desk while she jotted down a note on some paperwork.

Before Your Love by Kelly Clarkson began playing from my suit jacket. It wasn’t very loud, but in the crypt quiet courtroom, it sounded like a primo sound system at full blast. Shit. I thought I’d turned the ringer off before coming into court. I must’ve done it wrong. I fumbled with my jacket, trying to shut the phone off through the material. No good. I had to pull it out.

The judge cannoned a hard glare at me. “Do we have a problem, Mr. Manos?”

“No, I, uh,” I mumbled as I fished my phone out of my suit.

“Perhaps we can reconvene when it’s more convenient for you, Mr. Manos?” the judge asked sarcastically. I wasn’t scoring any points with her today.

Schlosser and his team shared a chuckle at my expense.

Finally, I dug the phone out and shut it off, but not before noticing who had called. Samantha. Why the fuck would she be calling me now? Whatever it was, it could wait. I made sure the ringer was off and stuffed the phone back in my suit.

“Are you finished?” Judge Moody asked.

“Yeah, sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“I should hope not, Mr. Manos. For your sake.”

Fucking great. Nothing like a bad first impression. In this case, it was more like a bad first, second, and third impression.

“As I was saying,” the judge fired a final glare at me, “before we were so rudely interrupted,” then she turned to Russell, “Mr. Merriweather, do you intend to call any other witnesses at trial?”

Russell flicked me a pointed glance. Just loud enough for me to hear, he said, “We gonna do this?”

My phone jumped in my pocket and vibrated once. I almost flinched, but managed to hold my shit together. I could tell from the vibration pattern that it was a text coming in. I ignored it.

I nodded at Russell.

He turned to the judge, and in a confident voice said, “Yes, your honor. I will also be calling Mr. Manos to testify on his own behalf.”

A hush fell over the courtroom.

The three D.A.s looked like a pack of hyenas whose ears had pricked up and noses had twitched the moment they’d caught scent of a wounded wildebeest limping by. Schlosser dug his fingers into the armrests of his chair. He was practically climbing out of it. The greedy smile on Stanley Whitehead’s face had curled into a twist. I was just waiting for his tongue to snake out and hungrily lick his lips. Kind hearted Natalia Valenzuela’s cheeks had reddened as if she was suddenly turned on. Yeah, her earlier demeanor had been nothing but a front. She got off on desperation. I could feel it. These three had smelled my blood and were thirsty for a drink.

So what? Fuck ‘em. I wasn’t a wounded wildebeest. I was always ready for a fight. Because you knew the second the badass male lion came bounding out of the bush with his big mane on display, those hyenas scattered like ants in a sandstorm.

Too bad I wasn’t allowed to throw punches and elbows in court. Not by law, anyway. But Russell could. In the courtroom, he was a bigger lion than I was.

He was going to eat those D.A. fuckers for lunch.

Somebody hand me a knife and fork.

SAMANTHA

After lunch, I went to the Main Library to study. No matter how many times I called or texted Christos, he never answered. I tried to concentrate on my Sociology and History reading, but it was tough going. I was too worried about Christos.

Eventually I gave up on homework and packed up my books and laptop. On my way to the north parking lot where I’d parked, I texted Christos one final time.

Meet me at ur place 4 dinner?

When I reached my VW, I was pleasantly surprised to see that it was right where I’d left it, seemingly intact. I’d sort of expected to find it either gone, somehow towed away by Tiffany Shitstain-Hateface, or perhaps a mangled heap. I wouldn’t put it past Tiffany to hire some guy to drive a bulldozer over it.

I strolled around my car, looking for any fresh key gouges or slashed tires. Nothing. Somehow, I imagined Tiffany was simply biding her time. Waiting for the most opportune moment to strike.

I climbed in my car and turned the ignition, wincing in anticipation of a car bomb going off. Nope, the engine started smoothly.

A moment later, I heard my phone jingle. A text from Christos.

Dinner is waiting for you at your new home, agapi mou.

Yay! I heaved a sigh of relief. I really needed to talk to him about his trial. I just hoped it wasn’t too late to make a difference.

I backed out of my space and drove down the aisle. Maybe Tiffany had cut my brake lines? How did one check brake lines anyway? I had no idea. Oh wait, I know!

I glanced in my rearview mirror. When I saw no one was behind me, I braked hard. My car stopped abruptly. The brakes seemed to be working. For now. Maybe it took awhile?

Screw it. I didn’t have time to worry about whatever that vengeful bitch Tiffany might be planning. I had more important things to worry about than her petty jealousy. I had to get home to my man.

Traffic was light and I made it to Christos’ house in record time. I parked in the driveway next to his Camaro. I pulled out my key to let myself in. I really needed to pack up all my stuff and move in ASAP. I’d already given my apartment manager my 30 day notice to vacate.

Sadly, I doubted there was time for me to move everything before Friday. I hadn’t even started packing. Then what? Would I be sharing this huge house with Spiridon while we waited who knew how long for Christos to be released from jail?

I didn’t want to think about it.

I jammed my key in the lock and walked inside.

For now, I was going to enjoy our time together as best I could.

“Samoula!” Spiridon smiled as I walked into the kitchen. “Dinner is almost ready.” He wrapped me up in a huge hug.

Christos walked in with a huge platter of lamb kebab skewers. “I just pulled these off the grill outside. I hope you’re hungry, agápi mou,” he smiled.

“You bet,” I grinned and tip-toed up to circle an arm around his neck and kiss his cheek.

Christos was so tall, he had to lean over for me to reach him. He twisted at the last second, holding the kebabs in one hand while he wrapped an arm around my waist and smooched me on the lips. “That’s more like it,” he said. “I’ve been waiting for that all day.”

“Your Spanakopita is almost ready,” Spiridon said to Christos. “It smells delicious.”

“Awesome,” Christos said as he set the platter of skewers on the counter top. I noticed chunks of grilled onions wedged on the skewers between the lamb. He grabbed an oven mitt and used it to pull a baking pan out of the oven.

“Wow, that looks uber yum!” I said. “What is it?”

“Spanakopita. Spinach pie.”

The crust was a perfect golden brown and looked flaky. I couldn’t wait to dig in.

“Sit down, you two,” Christos said while he cut up slices of Spanakopita and dished them up with the lamb skewers and cucumber salad.

“Mmm, Tzatziki! I can’t wait,” I smiled as Christos set plates in front of me and Spiridon.

Christos joined us at the table and we dug in.

As usual, conversation with Christos and his grandfather was fun and full of laughs. I relished these simple moments. Dinner with my parents was never like this. I was starting to believe my parents had no idea how to enjoy themselves, as if they consciously avoided laughter and joy. Groan. Maybe Spiridon and Christos could give them lessons. Not.